Through it all, Satou kept thinking about the evening ahead. About Jessica, who was apparently so nervous she'd called in another healer to cover her usual rounds, claiming she needed to "prepare."
As the sun began its descent toward the horizon, Satou returned to his quarters to change. He'd been wearing his usual practical clothing—the kind of outfit suitable for training or meetings or general leadership duties.
For tonight, he wanted something different.
He settled on simple but clean clothes—a dark tunic that complemented his iridescent scales rather than clashing with them, comfortable pants, boots that were worn but well-maintained. Nothing fancy, but presentable. Respectful.
A knock on his door made him turn.
"Come in," Satou called.
Lyra entered, and she was grinning in a way that immediately made Satou suspicious.
"What?" he asked.
